


That Right Place

by RurouniHime



Series: Downpour series [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Community: fandomaid, Confessions, Established Relationship, Guilt, Infidelity, Insecurity, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco faces himself— literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Right Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piratesmile331](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=piratesmile331).



> Discussion of past infidelity.
> 
> To piratesmile331 for her generous donation to the aid efforts in Queensland, Australia. ^___^

"The truth is…" Draco straightened his shoulders. "The truth is, I don't actually think Harry's lying to me."

"That's… nice, dear," said the mirror.

"It's weird. I hadn't even thought about it today. Usually I wake up and it's the first thought, and then the last one at night. What happened, I mean."

"Ah," said the mirror.

"Just, today, I sort of had to remind myself. To think about it. Why am I even telling you this?"

"Not really sure, actually," said the mirror.

"Right," Draco sighed. He turned away from the mirror and sat down on the bed.

Their bed. It really was their bed these days. The worst part was that he'd thought for a while that it wasn't theirs anymore. Even though Harry slept in it, went straight there every night like he was trying to prove something, Draco had felt like one of them didn't belong, and he wasn't sure if Harry was the outsider anymore.

He wanted to kiss Harry. Hard. The idea of fighting just felt exhausting lately. Kissing, on the other hand— and other things, naturally. That gave his stomach a swoop, much bigger than the surge of discomfort he'd grown used to feeling. God, he wanted Harry. He wanted Harry to fuck him and touch him and suck on his throat and… He wanted Harry to _want_ to do that to him, and that, right there, was the problem:

Something in him couldn't be certain Harry wanted that.

Which was stupid. Harry had indicated it a hundred times. He'd even written it down for Draco a few weeks back. Not in actual words, but it was there between the lines; Draco wasn't obtuse enough to have missed it. Harry wanted what they'd had, he wanted it back. He was fighting for it tooth and nail, and Draco was still sitting here staring at his hands and having trouble believing.

Or was it accepting?

Draco looked up, into the mirror again. His own face was pale, eyes wide. He almost looked accusing, another him judging from the other side of the glass. Harry was downstairs with sweet popcorn and a movie, cleaning up after the dinner they'd made together, and Draco would rather hide in their bedroom and demand answers of himself?

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed at his reflection. "Just…"

Just what, exactly? As much as he wanted to have Harry inside him, tugging up every memory of before so that Draco could do nothing but gape and relive, and relish every second… Draco didn't know if he had the will to push for actual sex yet. He'd done it before, at Ron and Hermione's home, and he didn't know what was so different now. It was obvious Harry wanted to fix things. But that time in Yorkshire seemed so far off; Draco could barely recognise himself in the memory.

And he didn't really think that Harry had fucked that other man, not when he was honest with himself. It kept coming up, kept rising into his awareness as vindication, but its surface was so worn through now that Draco could no longer convince himself it was the reason he couldn't move forward.

Harry wanted to. He'd admitted that. Hell, Draco drove him to admit it, and it had probably done them both good. A little communication after such a dry spell could only do them good, blow some fresh air between them. Whatever else it did, it was movement. But Harry hadn't actually done what he'd been accused of. He'd never slept with anyone but Draco while they were together, and as far as Draco knew, he wasn't planning to.

So why was that, right there, a problem?

"For Salazar's sake," Draco berated himself. "You sound like a fucking idiot."

He rubbed his face with both hands until his cheeks burned. When he looked at his reflection again, his skin had reddened. Harry had wanted to be with someone else. That kept coming up, too, and it shouldn't because Draco knew Harry'd been faithful in every way that counted.

"I believe him," he muttered.

"Doesn't sound like you do," the mirror answered doubtfully.

"He isn't lying!" Draco snapped. Frustration reared. "I might not know him as well as I did, but I do know that."

Bloody hell, he was arguing with a mirror. At least he wasn't arguing with Harry anymore. And there was no stupid silence either. Harry touched him now, little brushes of his hands or bumps with his shoulders. He didn't shy away when they accidentally came in contact while passing things at dinner or trying to get to the sink in the bathroom. And it was no longer Draco's first inclination to shy away either, so that was something. He could catalogue that, use it as evidence that he was getting better at this. Adjusting. He hadn't realised how much he liked Harry touching him until Harry had stopped completely. At first he'd had his fury to contend with, his sense of betrayal, and touching was the last thing he wanted Harry to do. But now it was almost a fervour, a heat sweeping directly under Draco's skin whenever they came in contact, and it left him short of breath in a way it never had, not even when they were first together and those touches were new.

Everything was better. They were _doing_ better, but Draco felt more desperate than ever.

He wasn't afraid of Harry cheating on him, not really. He could lambast Harry all he wanted for it— and oh, had he ever. Draco watched his reflection wince and wished he could relegate the responsibility of all his cruel words to that person in the mirror. He was lucky Harry was still here at all. Draco couldn't imagine being accused day in and day out of something he hadn't done, and no matter how many times he said he hadn't committed the deed… Hind sight, and all that. At the time it had seemed necessary.

But that fear had died. Harry was waiting for him to step back across that space between them, Draco knew it, and still he couldn't initiate contact. Maybe he didn't believe Harry after all. Oh, not in the way he'd asserted so vociferously, not that Harry was lying about fucking someone else. What Draco was having trouble with was—

He dropped his head into his hands. "Oh gods."

"You alright?"

Draco jumped and turned, finding Harry in the doorway, one hand raised as if to knock. Harry shifted his weight back out into the hallway. "Hey. Draco?"

Draco's nerves skittered, all of them alive at once. "I'm— yeah. I'm coming."

Harry nodded, but didn't leave. He leaned against the doorframe. Draco rubbed his palms over his thighs and looked down at the carpet.

"Who are you talking to?" Harry's tone was subdued, cautious. That was another new thing, ever since his first confession. Draco still couldn't get used to it.

He sighed. "No one. Just myself."

Harry came across the room and sat down on the bed next to him. He met Draco's eyes in the mirror. "You're alright?"

"I'm fine." He was. Would be. He stared at the glass, at the reflection of the two of them, and felt like he was being watched. He got to his feet. "Can we go downstairs?"

"Sure." Harry sounded puzzled. But he got up too and followed Draco out of the room.

Down in the sitting room, Harry had set out a bowl of sweet popcorn— the smell filled the room— and two mugs of tea. Already Draco could see that his was just the way he'd always liked it, and he felt like even more of a berk, wallowing in his melodrama upstairs while Harry waited and waited. He made his way to the couch and sat down in the middle, then held still, breathless, to see if Harry would leave space between them when he joined him.

Harry didn't. The line of his body met Draco's all the way from knee to shoulder. And still Draco didn't know whether to feel relieved or anxious.

Harry turned on the movie and Draco tried to relax. Some coming of age drama based on a book, so Harry had said, but Draco couldn't focus. And he couldn't sit still. Every second felt charged with excess energy. It was all he could do not to fidget.

Until Harry shut the movie off and turned to him.

"Okay, what?" It wasn't confrontational; just Harry looking at him curiously. But Draco bristled a little anyway and had to tamp it down.

"Sorry." He settled back as much as he could, smoothing his hands over the tops of his thighs again, but Harry kept watching him. "Sorry, I'm just antsy. Or something."

"Do you… want to talk about it?"

Still so cautious! Draco wanted to lash out and hit something, swipe the popcorn bowl off the table, anything to break up the tension underlying all of their actions lately. He cleared his throat. "Not really."

Harry nodded slowly, and Draco cleared his throat again to keep him from talking.

"But I probably should."

"Oh." This time when Harry sat back, he did it still facing Draco, leaning at an angle against the back of the couch.

Merlin. He should have had a plan. Should never have lifted the lid of this box without some sort of script prepared, because when he opened his mouth—

"Trying to figure out why you wanted him."

Fuck. Oh fuck.

Harry's expression remained blank, but it was the sort of blankness that was more a mask than a true lack of feeling. Draco thought very seriously about cutting his own tongue out with his tea spoon.

"Him," Harry stated, finally. Draco swallowed.

"I mean—" What _did_ he mean anyway? He had to focus, but his mind was both a jumble and a blank, somehow. "The man. Why did you want him?"

He could tell he'd overstepped the boundary he'd been desperate to stay away from: Harry's cheek twitched. His hand was a closed fist against his knee, the skin of his knuckles lighter than the rest. Draco felt a surge of fear and plunged onward. "If you want— If there's someone else and you'd rather… If you want to be with them, I mean."

"I don't want to be with anyone else," Harry said, an edge to his voice.

"Why not?"

Harry's eyes went wide; his mouth opened. He stared at Draco as if he'd forgotten the rest of the world existed.

"What the hell, Draco?"

Draco had no answer to that. He didn't even know. Harry shot up from the couch. The void beside Draco felt huge and cold, and he had to struggle to keep from reaching out and dragging Harry back down next to him. Harry ran both hands through his hair and then rounded suddenly.

"Are you mad at me again?" he snapped.

Before Draco could stop himself— "Aren't you mad at _me?_ "

Harry gaped. "What? No, I— Why would I be mad at you?"

He couldn't look Harry in the face. "Think I've given you plenty of reasons lately," he muttered, staring down at his lap.

It was so quiet that for a long moment, Draco thought no one would ever speak again. He knew he should break the silence before it drowned them both, snuffed out whatever little life they'd been cultivating, but he didn't know what to say.

"I'm not—" The words came out convulsively and Harry jerked, almost as if he'd startled himself. He came back to the couch and sat down again. His hand crept out toward Draco and stopped. "Not mad at you, okay?"

"I'd be mad," Draco whispered. It was like he couldn't _not_ speak in the wake of Harry's voice; it loosened his words right up and out they slipped. He didn't like the lack of control, but he took a deep breath and tried to keep the flow going. "I wouldn't blame you. I mean, if you… You know."

This time Harry's hand covered his decisively. " _Draco._ What?"

"I'm just not sure why you'd want me anymore." He shrugged, and for a second it actually sounded trivial, like he'd suggested a spell to charm dust off the mantel. Harry's fingers tightened around his, and suddenly Draco couldn't let him say anything. "I've been such a bastard to you."

But that wasn't it. Not all of it. The question Draco asked himself was no longer whether Harry had fucked another man. It was why Harry had wanted to in the first place.

"I'm pretty sure you had a right to be a bastard to me," Harry said clearly, and Draco looked up, right into his eyes. The corners of Harry's mouth flickered up and down again, as if he couldn't hold the smile. Maybe he couldn't. "Listen. I don't know how to apol—"

"No, stop. Just…" Draco sighed. "I'm… That's not what I'm worried about anymore. I believe you, all right?"

"You do?"

Gods, why couldn't he just show it? Why did he keep putting Harry through the ringer again and again? Draco met Harry's gaze as steadily as he was able. "Yeah. I do."

"All right." Harry nodded, hesitant. "So… what are _you_ talking about, then?"

How to explain that if he were in Harry's position, he wouldn't want to be with himself any longer? That he couldn't get himself to take the next step forward because he didn't think he deserved to have Harry back? And if Harry had wanted that man in the pub, even for a night, what did that mean about how much he desired Draco? Maybe things had been crumbling in more ways than he'd realised, and Draco hadn't been filling the same hole he'd always filled for Harry. Why else would Harry want someone else?

"Do you still want me?" he asked. Whispered it, and heaved a sigh as soon as it was out.

Harry's fingers clenched around his. "Yes. I've told you. Thought I'd told you."

"I guess I'm not sure why, then." It was hard to say it aloud. He felt like he was asking a stupid question, like he should already know the answer and there was no point in belaboring it. His cheeks heated so fast he had to reach up, tug at his collar, loosen the top button. And when had he started buttoning his shirts all the way to the top anyway? As if he were afraid Harry would see something he didn't like.

Harry didn't say anything for a long moment. Draco could hear him breathing gently beside him. He didn't want Harry to answer. What if Draco had just put into words what Harry couldn't, made him realise what the problem really was? The possibility of rejection hit Draco afresh and he shivered.

"I never stopped wanting you," Harry said at last. "It was never about that, not any of it. It was like— I couldn't have the thing, the person I wanted most. I don't know, I just felt like you weren't available to me. For some reason. It's stupid, but I was… I was so sure."

Draco grimaced. He turned his hand over so they met palm to palm and gripped Harry's hand. "Did I really push you away so far?"

Harry sighed. "No. I don't think so. But… you didn't invite me. Not anymore. And then I was afraid to invite you, and then…" He shrugged, a little half-jerk of his shoulder. "And then I was in that pub. And it wasn't where I wanted to be."

Draco understood that restlessness, the need to be somewhere else, anywhere else than in the quagmire of their home. He'd felt it often enough over the past year. And he'd gone out, he'd walked and he'd drank, and he'd never found that 'right' place, the one he was looking for. Always felt like he was searching and everything was just wrong.

"I want to stay with you, Harry," he murmured. "That's the truth."

"I think we think too much," Harry said, and Draco felt the hitch of a laugh inside him. It was a foreign sensation and it died away quickly, but he basked in it for as long as it lasted. And then it was quiet again, and Draco turned to face Harry so swiftly that Harry pulled back a little. "Can I kiss you?"

Harry's mouth worked, open and closed, then tightened. "You can always kiss me, Draco. Always."

Draco leaned in a little and stopped: Harry's mouth was trembling, a minute shiver. The realisation washed through and Draco gave a helpless whine and pulled Harry in until their lips met, until Harry's parted and Draco could taste him again, sweep that fear away and put comfort, at least, in its place.

Of course his lack of action had befuddled Harry, _hurt_ Harry. Draco had made no overtures, of course Harry had questioned, and he'd asked the wrong questions. Draco was tired of half-admissions, partial information. He had to put this right as far as he was able and then trust Harry to do the same.

"Oh, god," Harry murmured against his mouth, like he hadn't meant to say it. Draco took Harry's face in his hands and kissed deeper, tilted Harry's head until they fit like they used to. It all came back in waves, the recollection of Harry's flavour, the ache of having missed it for so long, the way their bodies worked together, found common ground without them having to speak. The warmth of Harry's skin both bare and under his clothing. There was no way for Draco to do everything he wanted all at once, in that single second, and that both hurt and salved him.

He didn't know how long they kissed, how many tiny pecks he placed upon Harry's chin and cheeks, the edges of his mouth, how many times Harry drew him back and pulled the breath from his lungs properly. He didn't remember when Harry wrapped him in both arms, how he ended up leaning more against Harry than he did the couch. He knew the moment they parted, though, and the air that stung his throat, the sound of Harry's equally heavy panting.

"We're okay?" Harry breathed against his mouth. He sounded like a child.

"Damn it, we're going to be," Draco whispered.

~fin~


End file.
